Finding Natasha
by LynnisaMystery
Summary: After a night with Steve she wasn't emotionally ready for, Natasha figures out where she stands in the world, leaving the stoic assassin bent on clearing her ledger behind and finding a life more in tuned with emotion and living. It's a long journey, and she is her own catalyst in getting there. Steve/Natasha Post-Avengers Character focused
1. Chapter 1

**Believe it or not, I started writing this story right after Avengers came out in theaters last year. There were maybe ten Stasha fics out there at the time and I _NEEDED_ more. I didn't have time for character set up so I wrote it as a post event scenario. But I kept writing, and FINALLY I'm done. That's what a ridiculous amount of writers block and life events going will do to you. BUT today I completed Chapter 5, the last chapter, so I'll be uploading the chapters every few days or so until this is fully up. In the meantime! Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 1**

The morning sunlight streamed through the windows in an unwelcome intrusion. Steady breaths came from the bed in the small apartment bedroom, shifting the covers silently as they rose to accommodate the owners. Dust motes floated in the air easily, almost unaffected by the gravity that weighed everyone down. But it wasn't the gravity of the earth that struck Natasha Romanoff as grave, but that of the situation she was currently in.

Her head lifted slightly from the bed, short, wavy red hair falling in her eyes before a twitch of her head sent them flying over her shoulder. Her green eyes trailed over the room, settling first on the shirt on her dresser, though it was definitely not hers, then upon the bra that lay draped over a chair next to her desk, the sleek screen of her monitor shining light through the black lace and highlighting the flowery detail. Her eyes trailed then to her chest, the blanket holding on barely to her breasts, one shift vertical ready to send the blanket down to her stomach.

Her hand reached up and pressed the blanket to her more firmly, anchoring it to her body and giving her the ability to move modestly. Dread landed like an anvil in her stomach as gravity took over the situation within her once more, and her eyes traced the blanket across the bed to where it hung off the hips of the other occupant, parting away from the body at the V of his hips. If she shifted back towards the headboard slightly, she'd be able to follow that V all the way down. Instead, she trailed her eyes up across his abdomen and followed his arm from his crooked elbow up to his shoulder, and then to the broad planes of his face, relaxed in sleep.

What had she done? Would she ever be able to deal with a situation normally from now on? Her whole world tilted in that moment of realization that her inner gravity had shifted to that where she was changing all her stances on life. Six months ago, she was prepared to lay down her life to stop invading forces from another world… or two. It had never been made clear to her whether Loki counted as being of Asgard at that point. Six months ago, she was sure of the fact that she need only her skills sets and a mission, using what she could to see that mission through. Six months ago, she hadn't met the occupant in her bed.

She'd changed from never wanting love to suddenly contemplating it. It felt almost within reach for her now, should she only want to reach out and grasp it. Had this occurred with someone else, had it meant nothing else, she would easily move on, kick them out of her apartment and go to work. Go to the gym. Go anywhere. But not for him. He deserved better and she knew it.

His normally perfectly combed blonde hair was in an array around his head, and he almost looked like he fit in this century, that he wasn't actually pushing 95, or that he remembered the first Stark Expo. That he worked with one of the greatest scientists that made SHIELD a possible thing, or that he was an icon for kids who were now in their late 60's.

He almost looked…Her age.

And in a way, Steve Rodgers was. And he fit with her, in every way. The way her small, lithe body fit next to his toned, hard one. How they could probably take each other in a fight and not have too much trouble because he'd use his strength and she'd use it against him. The way he whispered hours prior that he had a thing for red heads. How that whisper felt so out of character for him, and how it was a side of him no one ever saw…but she did. She loved that…

But could she love him? A small voice in the back of her mind whispered that she might. And another whispered for her to run.

She slipped from beneath the sheets and stood, pulling her discarded underwear from the night before on, then a shirt from off the bed post and shorts from her dresser drawer. She wandered through her apartment, quiet as a mouse and over to her balcony, discreet in its view of the city. Stark Tower lay nearly invisible against the mass of sky scrapers, but she could see its wavy architecture and had it been night, she'd have also seen the lone 'A' on the side of the building.

She pulled her body up onto the wide brick ledge, her feet following as she leaned against the corner post and completely out of view from the door that led into the apartment. She might even be able to hide long enough that Steve would disappear into the city, and she wouldn't have to deal with things.

An hour passed, then two, and she finally heard a click from her front door. She waited a beat before stepping off the ledge, careful not to scrape herself on the rough, porous stone, and back into the apartment. Her breath froze in her throat as she caught sight of him leaning casually against the wall of her living room.

"See, I knew you were hiding," he smirked. "At first, you had me fooled, but I know you, Nat, you had to be hiding. So I waited, and then I realized you were hiding from yourself and were waiting for me to disappear."

"So you faked a disappearance," she summed for him, her lips pressed tightly together. "Clever."

"Thank you," he nodded once. "Why do I have the feeling you were setting me up to walk out on you?"

"I can't tell you what you feel," she said evenly and stepped further into the living room with the intent to make coffee.

"Can I tell you what I feel?"

"No."

"I figured as much," he nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. Her eyes flickered to his briefly, then down to his exposed chest. That familiar flutter reached her stomach once again, as it had over and over in the past few months, and she pushed to ignore it once more. His muscles trailed off, hidden by his pants neatly belted in place, and part of her almost wished the pants weren't there. If it was just them at night, like last night, hidden beneath the covers and whispering secrets, so uncharacteristic of their normal selves. "Nat, you let me in last night, why can't you do it now? What's so wrong about us in the light of day? What can't you deal with?"

"I'm fine," she said evenly. "I just need to think."

"You think too much," Steve sighed. "Don't think about what this changes. Just go with it. Do something for yourself. You are always duty bound, or debt bound, or bound by your past. Well, I am the past! In a way, you could say I'm history."

"You're the present."

"Let me in."

"I…" she trailed off, her lips parted and gaping, her eyes meeting his once again. "I can't. I can't, and I won't. Last night was a mistake."

"No it wasn't," he shook his head, ever the patient man. It nearly infuriated her that he kept an even, level presence, while she seethed and waited like a cat ready to strike always. That's why she and Clint were such close friends; they understood the game of hunting. The thrill of isolating prey and waiting for the perfect time to strike. Eager to follow an order that produced this thrill.

But Steve merely waited for an order that could change the world, protect it from the evils. His world was more of a black and white one, while hers black and red.

"_I've got Red on my Ledger."_

She turned away from him, unwilling to see his face anymore for fear her decision would change. "You need to leave, Steve. Nothing can happen between us. I'm sorry."

"Something already happened between us, Natasha. You are the one that just hasn't accepted it," he sighed. "When you have, you know how to find me. I'll be there."

She heard his footsteps turn away from her and into the bedroom. She spun on the spot and walked straight to the balcony, her arms crossed around her chest in an effort to keep the pain she couldn't control in. Her chest felt like it was exploding, and there was no way it was still intact.

She didn't cry until the door opened and closed for real.

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**I suck at constantly reviewing stories so a fav or a follow is all I'll hope for! That's enough for me! Do your own thing and I'll be back in a few days!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Fair warning for this chapter: I dabble a bit with talking religion here. While I made sure to avoid stepping on anyone's toes (I'm not religious, but that doesn't mean I really want to bash it), I do put a few of my own ideas out there. Namely Evolution and Religion coexisting. It's not much, as Steve strikes me as a good Christian boy. But I think we'd have to work really hard to get Steve to ignore science, right? So he's worked through some stuff in my head. You'll see it when you get to it, but so you know, I don't actively try to offend people.**

**But it's only this chapter, so don't take it all out on me, please?**

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**Chapter 2**

Malibu was gorgeous. The way the ocean blew any congestion in the air away from the high cliffs, the way the air always smelled of brine and the way everything could feel like summer if the temperature was just right. To Natasha, Malibu was definitely one of her more favorable cities to be in.

She drove up in front of Tony Stark's house in a sleek black BMW, mentally preparing herself for the night ahead. This would be the first time all the Avengers would be congregated in one location, seven months after the attack on New York. They'd all seen each other to one degree or another, but planning group events always seemed difficult when one member of the group was from another world.

She grabbed her clutch and adjusted her thigh holster, shifting the gun inwards to avoid any visible lines. The ring on her right hand glinted red in the light from the lamps on the porch, highlighting the hourglass there. Black Widow to the end it seemed. She pushed open the door, lifting her eyes up to see the jaded valets eager to take her car off the drive way. She passed the keys over and walked to the entrance, the black dress swirling in waves around her knees and calves, layers of fabric allowing movement and easy concealment of weapons. The bodice clung tight to her, wrapping its layers of fabric around abdomen before crossing over her breasts and tying around her neck. Red heels covered her feet and matching earrings hung in chains to her shoulders, swirling around where her hair usually lied. She'd grown it out further, the tips just brushing the tops of her collar bones, though tonight it was up in a decorative clip.

She'd be lying if the she said she wasn't doing it to forget about a captain who loved her short hair.

She walked up the steps carefully, trained eyes noting the electronic control panels that lay near dormant to the sides of the door as well as the cluster of men in the corner eyeing her movement. She'd used her body to get what she wanted many times before and knew the stares were not menacing, but instead ogling her, and hardly a threat.

"Drink, Ms. Romanoff?" a waitress in a tight red and gold fitted dress asked, presenting a tray with various glasses of champagne.

"No, thank you," she replied easily, giving a small smile out of politeness. The waitress nodded and moved on, presenting her selection to another guest. Natasha trailed along the edges of the room, always a wall to her side.

"Can't avoid casing the room either?" a voice in her ear whispered and she smirked.

"Never," she replied evenly, turning her gaze over to Clint Barton who stood in a tux, bowtie perfectly aligned with his shoulders and hair parted at the three-quarter mark over his left eye. "How've you been?"

"Alright," he shrugged. "Went to Dubai a few weeks ago."

"How'd that go?"

"Weather was nice," he grinned and she chuckled lightly, knowing he couldn't say more. "What about you? You've apparently been incognito. Fury hasn't mentioned you once."

"I haven't been on any jobs for him, that's why," she said evenly. "I've taken some time to myself."

"How uncharacteristic."

"It's characteristic if I'm doing it," she grinned crookedly at him before sobering. "I just need time to myself."

"You okay?"

"Fine," she said. "It's only a vacation. I'm still me."

"How many weapons?"

"How many do you think?"

"Four."

"Five."

"Gun, two knives, shock ring," he listed. "What am I missing?"

"Hair clip," she grinned. "Doubles as a syringe."

"For what?"

"Me to know and you to hopefully never," she said, fighting a smile.

"If it isn't my two favorite assassins!" a loud voice greeted them from across the room and they turned to see Tony Stark heading towards them, arms spread wide and his smile stretching his goatee out.

"Tony," Clint nodded once in acknowledgement.

"Hello, Stark," Natasha said coolly. "Wonderful benefit you've put together tonight."

"This shindig? Nah, that was Pepper," he dismissed. "That woman knows how to make me look respectable."

"So she can make the impossible happen then," Natasha smirked.

"That's cold," Tony said, his face falling as he looked at her. "Now tell me, why exactly do they call you a Widow?"

"Didn't they used to call you the Merchant of Death?" she countered.

"Touche, Ms. Romanoff," he nodded. "What about you, Wings? What have you been up to?"

"My job," Clint replied.

"Not one for adjectives I see," Tony nodded. "Well, I've been having a lovely time out here. You guys should really consider getting summer homes. We could bond, go swimming. You know, I have a gym a few levels down you two might actually enjoy. Little sparring, one on one. Agent stuffs."

"I'll pass," Clint smirked. "More of a nomad myself."

"A nomad from SHIELD base to SHIELD base? Whatever turns you on, I guess," Tony shrugged. "What about you, Red?"

"I'll think about it," she said, not displaying an iota one way or another as to her decision. The truth was, she actually was considering it. She loved Malibu, and with her earnings from such a high risk job she could easily afford something maybe half the size of Stark's home.

"Wonderful," Tony grinned. "You know, I think Pepper could use a friend. A girl type friend. Although I have no idea if she'd go for the girlfriend thing. Remind me to ask her about that later."

"Of course," Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Splendid," Tony grinned and clapped his hands in front of him. "You kids have fun. I'm gonna go mess with Big Green. He seems a little edgy tonight, it's fantastic."

"Stark, I don't think you should—" Natasha started but Tony was already wandering off towards the other side of the room towards where Banner and Pepper stood talking.

"If he brings out the Other Guy, his suit is gonna get it," Clint mumbled.

"Do that once we've actually gotten the Other Guy under control, we might need that suit," she said.

"Wonder if Rodgers brought his shield," he mused, scanning the crowd.

"Is he here?" she asked, her voice a small bit higher than normal, and she prayed Clint's trained ears mistook that for curiosity only.

"Not yet," he shook his head. "But he should be soon. Even Thor is here and he had to travel from a different world."

"How did they even contact him? She asked, her brow furrowing.

"Something about calling a gatekeeper," Clint shook his head. "I have no idea. Fury wasn't exactly descriptive."

"Is he ever?"

"When he needs to be."

"Ah," she nods, her eyes trailing once more over the room. She catches a few people milling around, trying to catch eyes with any of the Avengers, others gaping like they were statues for display. It didn't unnerve her, but it did make her eager for the night to be over. "I'm going out on the patio."

"I'll catch you later," Clint nodded once and she returned the nod before maneuvering through the crowd and out into the breezy night air. Stark had a wrap-around walkway that followed the twisted architecture of his house, a small three foot wall stopping you from falling over the cliff with a miniature lantern every six to eight feet.

The wind caught her dress, swirling it around her legs and raising goose-bumps on her arms. The orchestra that had been almost nonexistent in the background in the house could not be heard out here, giving her the feeling of being almost entirely alone.

It was pleasant. She watched the waves brush against the spiking rocks below, the smell of salt and brine reaching her nose and reminding her of all the reasons she liked Malibu. When she had been monitoring Stark before, she'd never gotten much of an opportunity to enjoy the city. When not in Tony's presence, she was acting her part or attempting to detour his Artificial Intelligence Computer that controlled all his files and automatic house functions. Stealing anything from his personal files was near impossible without the risk of JARVIS catching you.

But now… Now she wasn't on a mission. She was here because of her affiliation with the group known as the Avengers, and no more. She had no mission, no schedule for the near future, she could speak English anywhere, not once having to brush up on her other languages, or having to become a new person. She was herself. It was an enlightening feeling.

"You do know that at parties where you are a star, it's customary to appear," the even voice that she had so often thought of late at night when her mind wasn't so closely monitored and unbidden thoughts could get through. Her heart clenched in her chest and she forced herself to look at him with an even mask, not once betraying the pain that resided in her heart.

"Is that so?" she asked, forcing down the smile and keeping her voice even and far from the flirty tone they used to use.

That they used that night while whispering secrets… When both their heads were under the covers, the only light being the full moon shining through the window and then the sheets. How you couldn't see details but you knew every minute movement, how the other's mouth would crinkle when they formed certain words and syllables, how a laugh always sounded free in the dead of night…

"It is," he nodded. "Mind if I join you?"

"Free country," she shrugged. "I'm sure Captain America of all people knows that."

"I do, but my mother always taught me to ask a lady first," he smiled, "never to intrude on her solitude unless given permission."

_What about playing with her heart?_ she so desperately wanted to speak the words out loud, to make them real and to show him that she hadn't meant to hurt him and that she was only scared. She was still scared.

"So, Ms. Romanoff, may I have your permission to accompany your staring at of the ocean?"

She couldn't fight the smile. "You always have such a unique way of phrasing things, did you know?"

"Where I come from, everyone talks like that," Steve replied. "We all were raised to be polite, to open doors and to be respectful to anyone regardless of age."

"And color?" she asked with an arched eyebrow.

"According to the History Channel, that didn't come for another twenty years after I was frozen," he grinned. "But I grew up in New York. Everyone was from everywhere, and no one was bothered. There were so few colored folk up there anyway. Too far north I suppose."

"Do you ever feel like you were born in the wrong time?" she asked quietly.

"No," he replied simply. "God put me in the time I was born so I could become who I am today."

She smiled and looked down at the wall, crossing her arms on it to lean forward. "I love how we can have a god standing in the house behind us, and you still think there is only one power that governs us all."

"He's not a God, Nat," Steve smiled, tilting his head to look her in the eye. "He's like another species. He may look like us and have powers we don't, but he's from another world. Not ours. His race is different; larger, stronger. He's I guess what you could call evolved."

"I thought you religious type didn't believe in evolution?" she teased, nudging her shoulder against his.

"Not all of us," he shrugged. "Some. But why can't we believe in both? Science made me who I am, and God put me there to become that. They seem to work together in my head. Just because a paper says the sky is green, does that make the sky green?"

"No."

"So if the Bible says God made the world in 6 days and on the 7th he rested, why couldn't he have only made the basis for his world. That he put us on here to grow and become more than what we are?"

"What about that Adam and Eve story?" she asked and he shrugged.

"I never said I had all the answers," he grinned. "I just know that I became more than what I started as, and the rest of God's work can too."

She smiled but remained quiet, studying the water and how the sliver of moon in the sky cast a dim light over the water and its bending waves.

"How have you been, by the way?" he asked and she looked back over at him.

"Alright," she gave a small smile.

"Just alright?"

"Yes," she nodded, and it was the truth. She felt like she was in a half-life, neither here nor there. "What about you? What have you been up to?"

"I went to England," he grinned and cast a sideways glance. Her eyes widened in surprise and he answered her next unspoken question. "I had to look up an old friend. She's living with her daughter and her daughter's two boys. But it was nice. She and I both got some closure."

"Wow," was all she managed to say. Dozens of thoughts streamed through her head. He'd never spoken of a woman. Always either of Howard Stark or of the scientist who'd sought him out for testing.

"Yeah," he nodded, lost in thought. "It was… Surprisingly good closure. I never would have thought so but it was, like finally answering all my questions."

"She cleared things up," she summed and he nodded.

"Yes, she was quite eager to see me again after hearing about New York. Apparently, she helped create an experimental program within the American Government. Though she didn't say, I think it was the predecessor to SHIELD."

Natasha's eyes widened once more and her head snapped to the side. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Well, Tony told me how his father was one of the founders of SHIELD. Pulled it from SHIELD's files," Steve shrugged. "And she mentioned that she had worked with Howard for years after I went MIA."

"How did you know her?" Natasha's curiosity overtook her and the question blurted out.

"She was my boss. To a degree, she always treated me like an equal. Even before I became Captain America," Steve smiled fondly. "She was the first woman I ever held a conversation with. I was so awkward around her in the beginning…"

Natasha realized by the look on his face that this woman was his first love, and that made Natasha's stomach twist. Jealousy overtook her and she was torn between curiosity and never wanting this woman mentioned again.

"Were you… Did you…" she trailed off, her gaze back on the rocks below.

"Not really," he said, getting the gist of what she meant. "I mean, Howard and I kind of competed for her affections, but we only really confessed our feelings the last time I saw her."

"Oh," she nodded. "I… Sorry."

"Not your fault," he sighed. Once more they lapsed into silence, at a complete loss for words. They stood like that for nearly five minutes until he suddenly shifted, turning his body towards her and producing his hand out to her. "Do you want to dance?"

"Do I—"

"Want to dance. Yes," he nodded. "It's okay if you don't. I know there are a lot of people and you wouldn't want to give them the wrong idea."

"No, it's alright," she shook her head. "I mean, yes. Let's dance."

His returning smile was almost enough for her to drop everything and run off with him right there, forgetting everything and disappearing for however long they needed. Instead, she placed her hand in his and tried to ignore the twisting feeling that grew in her stomach. All the reasons for that night nearly a month ago came flooding back to her, twisting in her chest and pushing her heart back and forth.

They followed the winding path back around the building and into the main room, the orchestra music filling their ears and the surrounding conversations a low hum under the music, hiding specific words in the thrum. Steve took her to the middle of the floor and spun around to face her, grasping her waist with familiar ease, his touch sending sparks up her ribs and her stomach fluttering in time with her rapid heartbeat. They fell into the motions of dancing and a part of her was surprised he knew how to dance. He wasn't clumsy in the slightest, despite his larger size, and kept his steps perfectly in time with the accent notes within the music.

"I didn't know you could dance," she smirked, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

He shrugged. "I learned awhile back."

"As in pre-Captain America or post?"

"Post," he grinned. "Post thawing too. It's a recent thing."

"Interesting," she nodded. "I had no idea."

"I'm full of surprises, Ma'am," he laughed and she shook her head.

"I'm not old enough to be a Ma'am," she said. "But I know that'll you'll just tell me that you were raised to say that."

"I was."

"I like that about you," she grinned.

"I think I like everything about you," he said, and she knew immediately they were talking in much more serious terms.

"I can't—"

"I know," he smiled apologetically. "I get that, I understand. Believe me. Love is for children, right?"

Never before had she wanted to cry nearly as much as she did right at that moment. She could feel her heart tearing in half and it was by her own fault.

Instead of correcting that though, she just mumbled 'right' and continued dancing in silence. The music changed to a slower one and she drifted closer to him, holding his shoulders a little tighter, and he tightened his grip on her back, pressing her close.

They swayed carefully to the music, and as the song drifted to a close, she stepped back and looked up into his face.

"Thank you, for the dance," she said, her voice a little rougher than she meant for it to be. "I had," she swallowed and inhaled a breath, "I had a wonderful time."

"Anytime, Nat," he whispered and her throat closed slightly as he said her name.

"_You're special, Nat… So special. I can't imagine you any other way…"_

"Right," she nodded. "Goodnight."

She spun and moved towards the entrance of Stark's house, her eyes on the doorway and straying nowhere else.

As she stepped down the steps, she passed her slip to the valet who immediately ran off to get the car. She had to wait only a minute before her sleek car pulled up in front of her, and she wasted no time in getting in and pulling out of the drive. She glanced once in the rearview mirror, her eyes locking on the tall figure in the doorway to Stark's house. She did her best to ignore the pain that laced through her at the sight of his dejected face.

The tears came then, and she got only a mile down the road before they got too harsh, and she pulled over behind a sign out of sight of the road.

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**And there you have it! Let me know your opinions in a view, hurtful or otherwise. I'm a big girl, I can take it. I'm actually really curious as to what you guys think. I originally wrote this chapter sometime last May or June, before the deleted scenes came out. The first draft had Steve talking to Peggy's granddaughter, rather than her himself. She's gotta be upper nineties by now. But after the deleted scenes hit the internet at the end of last summer I had to move things around to work with the movie-canon. But I do honestly think Steve and Peggy could spend an afternoon or two catching up and getting the closure they need. Peggy had to have seen the post New York news and known he was back. At the very least someone told her. **


	3. Chapter 3

**References to violent events, but honestly it's not even descriptive. It's mainly implied. Her wounds are described more, but even that is vague. It's another after the fact chapter. But this one was more crucial to getting Natasha to where I need her. And, um, does anyone know where I can get a real life Steve Rodgers because he is too fun to write for caring scenes. I rather like writing Nat too, so that may help when it comes to this story. Just a theory though.**

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**Chapter 3**

Natasha set her gun atop the dresser, wincing as the movement shifted her shoulder just wrong and rubbed the torn flesh against her ragged jumpsuit. Her footsteps were close together; every inch of her seeming to ache more than before and part of her mind whispered that her adrenaline rush that had kept her going had finally worn off. She headed into the bathroom of her apartment, flicking on the light and grimacing as she saw her reflection. Her hair over her right ear was partially singed and she realized a short layered bob would now be needed to maintain a normal image. A small gash lay over her left eyebrow and a bruise was forming over the right cheekbone. Her suit was torn at her right shoulder, the slice lacing down to just at the crook of her armpit, and a twist of her body revealed the opposite ending gash finished near her spine between her shoulder blades.

Her hip felt bruised, her hand was sore and several fingers were jammed…It never seemed to end. The mindset that she could do anything was fading as she continued to go on missions. The few months lapse with SHIELD had given her a taste of life, and she was reluctant to return to the emotionless one of before. She couldn't shut down and focus. People in danger seemed too real suddenly. They were no longer a factor to work in, but her mind now traced their lives and how they would have to deal with a horror for the rest of their life. It was unnerving and she couldn't shake it.

She turned on the water to the shower and slowly removed her jumpsuit. The belt came off, falling to the floor, light glinting off the black hourglass that lay in the center. Her tight boots came next, then the knife hidden within each. Gloves, communique, then the suit until she was in nothing but her underwear, the right strap of her bra sliced neatly where the gash on her skin lay.

The water almost hurt worse. She cried out in pain as the first drops of water splashed against her bruised and battered body. It was so painful and white spots clouded her vision. She stumbled out of the shower, her chest heaving against the pain and she fumbled for the pain relievers in the cabinet. She took four extra-strength pain killers, swallowing them without water and ignoring the acidic taste of the outer coating. She grabbed her towel and pulled it against her loosely, her mind clouded still with pain, and left the bathroom, shower still running and lights still on.

That was the third mission in two weeks, and the fifth since she'd come back to SHIELD after Stark's benefit party. They were slowly becoming more and more intense as the world never seemed to provide an end of criminals after their own means. This time it had been a handful of mobsters operating an underground weapons distribution through an old warehouse, and she'd had a team of five trained men to aid her in the take down… but the advantage of a weapons distribution center was that more weapons were always at the ready. She and a lieutenant from her crew were the only survivors. Months ago she may have been able to write their deaths off as part of the mission, but now she could only see their files—the files she'd be going through later as she wrote a report for Fury.

It was a slaughter.

Tears rolled down her face and she clutched the towel tighter to her body, her vision ebbing red on the edges as she remembered how much blood there had been. Many of the men working in the warehouse had not had vests on at all. She and her men had, keeping some of them alive that much longer before a lucky shot took them out. There was so much blood, trails of it on the floor and rolling into the flood draining pipes. Red ledger…Red on her ledger…

Without thinking for more than a second, she snatched her phone up off her dresser, a gasp of pain leaving her lips as she moved without thought. She hit the five and let the phone go through with the speed dial call, the comforting face smiling back at her; blonde hair parted the same way as he always had it directly over his right eye, almost too perfect in look.

"Natasha?" he answered, voice worried. Of course he was; she never called unless something was wrong. She hadn't called for two months.

"Steve," she choked out, her voice cracking and a sob escaping her lips.

"Nat, hold on, I'm coming over," he said with a voice laced with worry and mild panic.

"No—"

"Don't argue, I'm coming over," he said. "I'm ten minutes away, unlock your door."

"Alright," she breathed and walked through her bedroom to the front door, flipping the lock and sliding the chain.

"Ten minutes, just wait for me," he urged.

"Okay," she nodded to herself and let the phone slip from her ear and end the call.

She fell against the wall just inside her bedroom, wincing as the rough paint feel scraped along her back. Her chest heaved and she felt in almost as much shock as she had when Banner had chased after her through the Helicarrier after the explosion. She was scared. Scared of what could happen, what had happened, and of why she couldn't comprehend things.

Her mind nearly went blank and only the sounds of the door clicking open quietly alerted her. Her body froze at the noise, but the soft questioning 'Natasha?' eased her once more. She didn't speak and soon the footsteps neared, their heavy gait surprisingly quiet for what she knew was not a small man.

He appeared his face full of worry first and then shock as he took in her appearance and he moved with quick movements as he crouched near her.

"Natasha," he breathed, his hands hovering around her shoulders, his face betraying his worry and uncertainty. "Son of a… Let's get you cleaned up."

She nodded, her face glancing away almost in shame, though she felt mostly numb.

"I'm going to pick you up, okay?" he asked and she nodded once more. His arms came around her left shoulder and her waist, and she hissed as her arm pressed against his ribs. He mumbled an apology and she wrapped her arm around his neck, tucking her face into his shoulder. She could feel his muscles against her face, hardly straining against her weight. He carried her to the bathroom, setting her feet down but still supporting her. She heard the shower switch off and the sounds of the drain being plugged swiftly followed. He turned back to her, his face hesitant as he looked from her face to her towel and back again. "Are you okay…I mean, I need to…Is it all right if…"

"Yes," she nodded quietly and let her towel slip. To his credit, he only glanced once at her breasts before catching her eyes again and giving a reassuring glance. He turned to the tub and turned on the water, testing its warmth and adjusting accordingly before placing a hand against her back and guiding her towards the edge. She stepped in and sat down, pulling her legs up against her chest.

He reached into the tub and dunked a wash cloth in before bringing it up against her shoulder. She gasped and held back a sob.

"Sorry," he breathed, his other hand reaching in and clasping hers. He felt her squeeze it as he brushed the cloth over again, trying to be as gentle as possible. Her breath hitched with every pass over her shoulder and she was grateful when he moved on to her spine, then her head, wiping every trace of blood off her. He never spoke save for an apology here or there. As he finally whispered that he was done she stood and clutched his arm. He passed her towel, wrapping it over her shoulders and leading her to the sink. She tucked it under her arms, folding it to hold up against her.

"Here," he said, passing her a pain killer.

"No, I already took some," she shook her head.

"How many?" he prodded and she hesitated. "Natasha, how many?"

"Four," she stated and he inhaled deeply and looked to the ceiling.

"These are 800 MG a pop. That's way more than a safe dose."

"I can handle it."

"It's not something you can detach yourself from! Do you want to die?"

"I'm not overdosing!" she cried out and he turned around and ran a hand through his hair, mussing the perfectly combed look.

"Natasha," he said more calmly as he turned back to look at her. "Nat, this is your life. Okay? You may be going through something right now that you still haven't quite figured out, but you can't be careless when you're down."

"I'm careless?" she asked, her voice breaking with astonishment. "You're calling me careless? I am trying to control my life here! I am far from careless!"

"I get that you're hurt and injured because of a mission, but swallowing four times a normal dose of an already large dose is careless," he pressed. She stared him down, anger boiling in her eyes and she turned roughly to the mirror, arm snatching the first aid kit off the counter. When had he gotten that out? "Nat, let me—"

"Are you done telling me what I am?" she snapped and he at least had the decency to look apologetic.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "May I?"

Wordlessly, she passed him the box and he smiled slightly. She narrowed her gaze and turned back to the mirror. He rummaged through the box, pulling out the gauze, bandages, antiseptic, cotton… everything he thought he may need and laid them about the counter.

She hissed as he rubbed cotton dipped in antiseptic along her shoulder. She tensed and he stepped further behind her, his free arm cupping her left and rubbing her thumb along her in a soothing pattern that allowed her to relax some. He folded up some gauze and pressed it against her shoulder, covering the wound with a gentle care that she hardly felt.

"There," he said quietly. "All patched up."

"Thank you," she nodded and turned away from the mirror and passed him without a glance, snatching her towel up and wrapping it back around her. "I'm going to bed."

"Alright," he nodded and followed her out and into the living room. As she turned for her bedroom, he turned towards the couch, pulling the quilt laying on the back off and shifting the pillow.

"What are you doing?" she asked, stepping closer to him.

"I'm sleeping on the couch, what do you think?" he asked, looking up at her with a curious expression.

"No you're not," she shook her head.

"Yes, I am," he nodded. "I didn't think you'd want me to sleep in your bed."

"That's not what I meant," she pursed her lips angrily.

"I know," he shrugged. "Go to bed, Natasha. I'll be here in the morning."

"Like hell you will," she mumbled under her breath but instead turned and went into her room, shutting the door and flicking the lock behind her. She tossed her towel to the side and crawled into the sheets without bothering to dress, the day's activities pushing her closer into exhaustion. Her eyes drifted shut and she fell asleep.

The next morning came too early, and the sheets had slipped down her body, exposing her back to the morning chill. She gave a shiver and groaned, her fingers twisting under her head while she lay on her stomach. As her thoughts slowly returned, she realized that in the next room lay Steve, ever the modest gentleman, awaiting her return to consciousness. Her stomach twisted underneath her and she slowly sat up. She crossed over to her dresser and pulled a loose tank top out of the top drawer and pulled it over her head before grabbing some underwear and shorts. She opened the door quietly, poking her head out carefully. The sound of quiet breaths came to her ears and an unconscious smile crossed her face.

She padded out carefully and soundlessly into the living room, her eyes immediately catching his sleeping form. His right arm was stretched up and behind his head and his left draped over his bare chest. His face was peaceful and she found herself stepping forwards carefully, her hand reaching out towards him. She paused just short of his face and realized what she was doing. His hair was mussed, his perfect strands looking far from the sculpted look he'd always worn. It was different… It was different and she found that she liked it. She liked how he looked in the morning, before he was the American Image of times past. She wanted to see that everyday… and that was what was wrong.

She couldn't allow herself this. She had made her decision, and now was not the moment to change it. Though a part of her mind realized that this thought alone allowed the idea that she could change her mind eventually, she didn't dwell on it. Instead she moved to the kitchen area and as quietly as she could she started a pot of coffee, making sure to make it extra black for him. He needed that extra boost sometimes and the extra concentration seemed the only way to get it to him.

Bread went into the toaster for herself, her stomach too raw with nerves from the previous night to warrant anything of more substance. She hated the feeling of being trapped in her current life, and her indecision as to her future seemed to be messing with her insides. Nothing felt right anymore, as if she were lost to even herself. How could she understand anything if she couldn't understand what went on in her mind?

Before it had been simple: Wipe out the red and you've reached the balance, the atonement. But now, today, it seemed that the balance would never be reached. Could there be that equal level inside her if for every bad guy she knocked out she lost the same of her own men? How did that equalize the scales?

"Stop thinking."

She jumped at the sudden sound, spinning on the spot and a stray table knife clutched and at the ready towards Steve. He didn't even flinch, though she noticed the slight tensing of his neck muscles as he eyed the improvised weapon carefully.

"Sorry," she whispered, guilt flushing through her as she lowered the weapon down to her side. "I didn't… I mean…"

"It's all right, nothing happened," he smiled slightly. The simple motion seemed to quell a good portion of the anxiety within her, and she seemed to be back to the present once more. "You had zoned out there, are you alright?"

She turned, not wanting to look into his eyes. They were too full of care and just the want to understand and be there. They held no judgment, and she couldn't take that. Why wasn't he judging her? She felt like she deserved to be criticized in some manner, yet he would never be that person. How could he be so even minded?

"I guess," she mumbled after a delayed moment.

"It's okay not to know," he said and she looked back at him. He was just staring at her, a small, reassuring smile on his face. She noticed he had his undershirt on, as well as his trousers, though his belt was missing. They hung loosely on his hips, almost casual, as if he belonged in her apartment like this every morning. "It's okay to be conflicted."

"Thanks for the permission," she grumbled and immediately felt sick. He didn't deserve her attitude. She looked away guiltily, back to the coffee pot. It was almost finished brewing. A hand lay on her lower upper arm, away from the bandage that lay draped on her shoulder. She looked down first at the hand and then back to him before mumbling a 'sorry'.

"I can be whatever you need, Nat. Anything," he said. "If you need a friend, I'm here. If you need someone to listen and not talk, I can be that too. I won't be the person that tells you that you were wrong to do something you should have done, and I won't lie to placate you. I just want to help you. Not Shield, just you."

Her chest felt tight and for a moment she almost felt like she wouldn't cry. But a second later the dam broke and she nodded, immediately falling into his arms and letting loose like she was five again and listening to her mother tell her that her father wasn't coming back. After they killed her mother too, there was no one for her. Not until now.

And now she just wanted to cry. To finally release years of pent up emotion that hadn't been shed or even dealt with. She'd missed so much becoming an Agent by eight years old. And now here she was paying for it.

But Steve merely held her, even when she sank to the ground; legs too tired to hold her up, and cradled her safely in his arms. She cried into his chest, not even bothering to ignore the comfort the small kisses to the top of her head gave her or the light stroking of her hair. She let it all happen. It was too much to deal with at once, almost a sensory overload.

He must have held her for hours, but they hardly shifted. The coffee pot finished brewing, letting off the soft beep somewhere in the back of her mind. It registered once more as the warming plate shut off with another beep. Steve just held her until her sob subsided, not saying a word. He was only what she needed right now, nothing more. Just as he promised. When she finally pulled away and moved a hand to dry her face, he only gave a small smile and pressed a single kiss to her forehead. She closed her eyes, trying to never forget that feeling.

"I can stay if you want me to, but otherwise I was going to let you be. Have time to yourself," he whispered quietly, as if talking loudly would ruin everything.

"No, I think I do want to be alone," she nodded, her breathing still slightly unsteady.

"Okay," he smiled, and stood, reaching both his hands out to help her to her feet. She took the gesture, standing next to him for a moment before initiating the hug. It felt odd to be the one showing emotion first, but at the same time so innately right that she couldn't imagine it happening any other way in this moment. He wrapped his arms around her, burying her in warmth and affection.

He pressed one more kiss to her forehead when they separated and then strode towards the door.

"Steve!" she called out as he was halfway out the door. He turned back suddenly, their eyes locking and her throat choking up slightly. After a moment, she managed a shaky but honest, "thank you."

"Any time at all, Natasha," he said with kind eyes that nearly bore straight to her chest. "Never forget that."

She just nodded, tucking her arms around her as he closed the door and left her alone. She stood for a moment and then moved to the bathroom. Her bandages needed changing and after that she just wanted to sleep for a few hours. She felt lighter though, and she knew it was because of Steve. He just had a way of finally letting her be herself.

* * *

**Aww, ain't he just the sweetest guy ever? Next chapter is more in the moment, and it leads on to the finale. Nat is finally figuring everything out. We get more Clint too. I really do like writing him when he's not just a sarcastic bird. Caw Caw Mofos. (I feel the need to disclaim that I'm not part of the Homestuck crowd. I just really like Tumblr.)**


	4. Chapter 4

****I changed my username, formerly LynnO.o, now the current one which I do NOT plan to change... ever. I had the old one since before I'd made my current one a few years back, and I really, really wanted everything on the same page. So, I hope there wasn't any confusion, I hate to do this in the middle of my work, but I'll probably forget otherwise knowing me. I swear, sometimes I'm worse than Donna Noble when it comes to remembering. **

**Bit shorter than the last chapter, but things are more or less winding down. As much as I do like writing Clint, I haven't gotten the greatest grasp on his character. He's sarcastic, straight to the point, and says less than what he knows. He's not one to lay it all out for anyone, Nat included. Oh, and watch the nicknames. I want to see if anyone catches the differences in them.**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Clint found out one week after the fact that she'd quit SHIELD. She'd done so two weeks after her last mission, though Fury had promised that he'd reopen her position should she ever reconsider. _Top Agent_, he'd said. _An Asset if he'd ever seen one_, he'd mentioned.

But she could no longer be those things and be in good conscious. It wasn't her any longer. Why she couldn't be them she wasn't quite sure. Her days of undoing the red in her ledger were up, and she felt no further from the end than she had when she first started. It was simply time to move on. She had changed and the stoic, angry, fiery woman she once was simply had gone. She could find the detachment she once held dearly no more than she could find an understanding to the mechanics of Tony Stark's Iron Man suit. Some things would forever remain a mystery and it was high time she accepted that.

It was freeing, almost. She had years of Hazard saved up and tucked in several accounts both on and offshore, as well as a sizable pension that would activate upon age 65. Tony, for an odd reason, had deemed it necessary to grant her stock in Stark Industries as a gift. No occasion, simply that she looked like she needed a gift. So that sum lay on the back burner as well, the umbrella at the bottom of her bag in the event of a rainy day.

While Fury was disappointed to see her leave, Clint was confused. She and Clint had hardly spoken more than a handful of times in person since the benefit in Malibu, and neither of them strayed from everyday topics while on the phone. Their training taught them otherwise, and habits were hard to break.

He appeared on her doorstep nearly a week to the day after resigning with Fury, eyebrows drawn in confusion and a cardboard tray holding two coffees on it as peace offering. He always seemed to bring something when he came out of the blue to talk to her, as if paying for their time together. She supposed it made sense; time was money, especially to a spy. Not a wasted second crossed their paths. Mindless shower time was either planning or decompressing, and sleep merely defragmented your thoughts. Waking hours were held for necessities and missions. So to simply sit and have lives was something you would always pay for.

He offered out the cup to her and she took it with a smile, stepping to the side and letting him in as if she had no clue the reason for the social call. He walked in, making his way for the table by her kitchen and taking his normal seat.

"What's up, Tasha?" he asked. Though he said it with a smile, his eyes betrayed him; unveiling the slight hurt at finding out from someone else she'd left SHIELD.

"Not much, lately," she shrugged as she fell into the seat across from him. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you myself. They said you were in Australia."

"Visiting an old friend, not on mission," he bit out, frustration evident in his voice.

"Oh," she said softly.

"Yeah, they left that part out, didn't they?"

"I just assumed…"

"Right," he nodded. "So why did you leave?"

"There's not a solid reason, Clint."

"So tell me the softer ones," he shrugged, eyes narrow as he examined her every move. She squirmed slightly under his gaze, feeling judged and interrogated. Like being herself was too much in this moment.

"I don't know…" she shook her head with a whisper. "I just… It all became too much."

"Too much for you?" Clint questioned. She felt hurt at the way his eyebrows were raised in disbelief. Did he truly not believe her?

"Yes," she nodded. She set her jaw as anger began to bubble within her stomach. "Yes, it was. So I left. It wasn't a rash decision either, so you can forget about that."

"Why are you angry with me?" he shot back and she felt like screaming at the top of her lungs in sudden frustration.

"_I'm_ angry with _you_?" she asked sarcastically, her voice hitting a slightly higher pitch. "Well, gee, Clint, I guess the Hulk is just a bit ferocious don't you think? You're obviously mad I didn't tell you when I was considering leaving and you're mad I didn't call you the moment I left. That's it right? Nail and peg, hmm?"

"Yes, Tasha," he nodded, crossing his arms in front of him. "That's exactly it. I am mad. And I'm hurt. Honestly, I feel like I don't even know you anymore. We hardly ever speak. I couldn't even tell you if you like living here in New York."

"I do," she nodded, though she knew that wasn't the point of his statement. "But I don't have to clear my life with you Clint. Alright? I'm a grown woman who can definitely handle herself. I'm tired of you watching over my shoulder to make sure Little Miss Red Ledger doesn't change her mind."

"Yeah, how is that ledger these days, Tasha?" Clint bit out and not a second passed before her hand whipped across the table and slapped his cheek.

He froze, stunned almost; stunned that she slapped him and stunned that he didn't even catch her in time. Her movements were so whip like and fluid that by the time her palm slid off his cheek he'd only just spotted the movement.

"Don't you dare," she shook her head, and guilt trickled down Clint's spine as he saw the tears in her eyes. He'd never seen her cry like this before; nothing that wasn't related to pain. She looked suddenly vulnerable and real, like he had just realized that she was an actual woman and not just an agent.

"Don't you ever say that to me again," she continued after a lengthy pause. "I am done with that ledger. There will never be a balance. I've accepted that. Now you can either accept that too, or I'll see you at your funeral to pay my respects in however many years that is, alright? Because if you can't accept that, you can leave right now. I am no longer a SHIELD agent. I am not a spy anymore. That part of me is _done."_

Clint stared up at her, though face impassive, his stomach turned uneasily in surprise, guilt and slight fear. He had never seen her this angry at him, nor this close to the emotional edge.

"I'm sorry," he whispered genuinely after a beat. She nodded once and slumped back into her chair, seemingly exhausted. "I didn't know, Tasha. I didn't. I'm sorry."

"I'll be fine, Clint. I'll get over it," she nodded, and then as an afterthought flashed him a tiny smile that didn't really reach her eyes.

"So what are you going to do now? See the world? Settle down?"

She thought about that for a moment, considering all her options. Part of her wanted to move to Malibu, but she realized that Steve felt so intrinsically a part of New York that she couldn't possibly leave him here or uproot him. It didn't even register in her mind that she'd incorporated him into her plans unknowingly.

"I'm going to stay here. Maybe I'll travel a little, but I've seen most of the world," she answered. "I want to be normal, Clint. I don't care about my past right now. This is the most free I've been in years and for once I just want to embrace life. I got a taste for it on my short leave and now I want it all. I don't think I can ever be the emotionless Black Widow. I can't. If I stop her now, then she'll be a legend. One who never really _failed_."

"You say that like you have," Clint commented and she looked sadly into his eyes.

"Four people out of my team of five died on my last mission, Clint," she whispered.

"You didn't fail though, the mission was a success."

"No, Clint, four _young_ men died because of our lack of back up and not being prepared for that warehouse. They _died_, Clint," she pushed. "That's not a win. There's no balance there. The bad guys are still winning because we are still losing our people."

"Tasha, it takes sacrifice to beat the bad guys," Clint shook his head. "It's alright—"

"No!" she cried out, her eyes urging him to understand. "It's not! Clint, it should never be alright! How can letting people die be alright when they play for the home team? I can accept that people need to die, I know they do. But our own people don't!"

Clint sat across from her, definitely not going to concede to her new point of view. He looked down at the table after a moment, contemplating the next move. There was suddenly this grand canyon of a rift between them when just a year ago they fought alien forces from another realm. Too much had changed.

"That's why I quit, Clint."

He looked up at her admission, and gave a small nod. He might not understand her viewpoint, but he got the hint: She and SHIELD no longer had a common viewpoint. He should have known it would happen eventually. He'd been the catalyst to change her viewpoint before and switch to Home Team, but she had her own catalyst now. She wasn't following anyone this time. Part of him was proud of her for that, the rest of him was sad, though, because now their friendship wouldn't exactly be the same.

"I'm gonna head out, Tasha," he said and she just nodded slowly, rejection filling up inside her. "Call me if you want to get together and catch up some."

"I will," she whispered, her voice small and fragile sounding. She walked him to the door silently, and they exchanged a single hug before he walked out for what would probably be the next few months of her life. Until they processed everything, they wouldn't be able to talk for a while.

Brooklyn was actually rather beautiful. It had this old feel to it despite its obvious keeping up with the times. The older homes emanated history and she could see why Steve chose to remain in this neighborhood when he easily could afford something nicer. It had a homey feel to it, like everyone could be your friend.

She walked down the old sidewalk, avoiding the rougher cracks in the pavement as she made her way to a diner Steve mentioned going to regularly. It seemed so long ago. She still held some regret as to letting that night nearly a year ago happen, but too much of her was glad at the solid connection she held with Steve now. It didn't ebb away at her emotions anymore, and she didn't feel raw. Everything felt like it was supposed to. As if this was how a normal person who grew up with a mother who baked apple pies and a father who worked nine to five felt. The more she considered that analogy, the more she wondered how that met up with Steve's childhood. Did his mother work? His father was a soldier, she knew. But what of his mother? Was she able to be the warm woman of the time once his father was gone?

The diner stood just across the street from her, tucked into an old brick building that looked like it was of late thirties architecture. The brick was worn and brown, with a fabric overhang that hung from under the second floor windows and proclaimed the name of _Sammy's Diner._ The glass windows had gold paint etched on, telling all about their burgers, malts and apple pie.

She took a deep breath and with a glance down both ends of the street, crossed it quickly and went into the establishment. A quick glance around almost told her that he wasn't there today, but there was a leather jacket strung over the back of a table in the corner that she recognized with ease. She made her way over to the empty table and sat down. No food was out, only a single strawberry milk-shake in an old 50's style glass, the cherry perched on the whipped cream still. She assumed he must be in the bathroom. There was little condensation on the glass so she assumed it had just been place out by a waitress.

The Men's Room door swung open with a slight creak and Steve glanced around once curiously before looking back to his table, his gait slowing only a bit as he saw her before a large smile crossed his face. She smiled back unconsciously, unable to help the bubble of warmth his easy welcome gave her.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," he said as he sat down.

"I think you said once I was full of surprises," she shrugged lightly and he smiled.

"That I did," he grinned. "Care to join me officially? I'm buying."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course you are. A lady never pays according to you."

"That they don't," he nodded and took a sip of his shake before offering it towards her. "Want some? It's actually really good."

She considered it for a moment before giving a small nod and accepting the drink. It really was good, everything it should be was there, tasting ever like the classic shake it looked.

"That really is good," she nodded, pushing the glass back.

"Told you this place was a favorite," he nodded. "Reminds me kind of like home."

"How so?" she asked curiously, looking around at the décor. Everything seemed mismatched to her. The red plastic seats looked like they were from the fifties, the exposed brick seemed of the forties, same with the tiled floor. The lights that hung looked everyday lights and the bar seemed to have this nostalgic space-age feel.

"The little things," he shrugged. "The food here reminds me of home, how it tastes. The couples here are usually older, so they act similar to home and the stories I hear them tell are only a few years younger than I am. And then I guess this place just feels like me, all mismatched and out of time."

"How is that out of time thing going for you, Captain," she asked, using his title as more of a teasing nickname.

He shrugged and gave her a small smile. "Some days are better than others. I saw a movie the other day. It's amazing just how much they've really changed. When I left the theater, some teenagers were complaining about the special effects used and how they weren't quite realistic enough. I had sat through the whole film absolutely amazed at everything because I'd really never seen anything like that on film before. Everything looked amazing to me."

"I wish I could understand better," she said genuinely.

"I figure in a few years I'll be used to this time enough that it won't matter anymore," he shrugged. "I'll become more jaded to this life."

"Won't Tony be thrilled," she laughed and he groaned slightly at the thought.

"I don't even want to start contemplating technology too much yet," he shook his head. "I had to get my land lady to help me use the movie-player thing in my apartment a few weeks ago."

"A DVD player?" she questioned amusedly.

"No she called it a, oh what did she say? A Blue-Manta Ray?"

"Blu-ray?" Natasha suggested and his eyes lit up with recognition, causing her to start laughing as she suddenly caught what he had called it.

"Yes! That one! That was it," he nodded. "I have one of those now! I want to watch some old movies and the man at the store assured me this was where technology was going."

"It is," she nodded, pressing her lips together still to fight laughter.

"They hooked it up for me and everything too," he nodded, taking another sip of the milkshake in front of him. "I didn't have to do a thing. Which I couldn't even after it was done. Mrs. Hopkins had to help me too. She's seventy-three this month and she just went on about how her grandson taught her. She ended up staying to watch Casablanca with me that afternoon. It was good company. We had this long chat about a few of the actors before it got too late. I think I really miss having someone who just understands me, you know?"

She smiled. "I think I actually do," she nodded and she met his eyes. She caught that he understood what she meant. Everything fit suddenly, it seemed, like all was right in the world.

"Do you want to go to Central Park?" he asked suddenly with a grin.

"Sure," she nodded, curious but excited at the same time.

* * *

**Tech-tarded Steve is my favorite. It's so funny. There are some really funny more crack-like stories on here where he and Thor just have NO idea what is even going on. **

**Anyone catch what I meant about the nicknames? Leave me a review and let me know! **


	5. Chapter 5

**NICKNAMES: I always had Steve call Natasha 'Nat' because I wanted something different from what Clint calls her. There's a lot of Clintasha out there (and frankly it is just not my thing. It's worse than some of the Stony stuff in my book, and I really can't read that ship in the slightest) and Clint ALWAYS calls her 'Tasha'. I needed something different. So last chapter the difference was more apparent than ever because Steve and Clint were both calling her their respective names. It was a writer's choice thing, but I think it'll stick for me at least. I haven't read much in the way of Stasha in awhile. **

**Last chapter and the shortest one too. Oh well. I rather like it though. If anyone's interested, this is the chapter I got stuck on. I had the first chapter done and just kinda sat there and went, "Well, damn. What next?" **

**That's the curse of the Writers. **

* * *

**Chapter Five**

They were completely unnoticed by everyone in Central Park. Everyone around them was too busy enjoying the nice day outside to even consider matching their faces to that of New York's heroes. Though the Chitauri invasion was not likely to be quickly forgotten, it was definitely within the out of mind, out of sight column of human life.

She and Steve took a more secluded pathway that hugged more to the trees rather than one of the larger, bench lined paths. It was slow and quiet, exactly what she wanted right now, and part of her wondered whether or not Steve enjoyed the atmosphere as much as she. From what she knew about life when he'd grown up, everything was done slower, at an easier pace. The hustle and bustle of today was non-existent and after her life as a spy she sort of craved that idea.

"I got beat up behind that set of trees there," Steve said suddenly and Natasha followed where he was pointing to with her eyes.

"When?" she asked without thinking. It was such a contrast to what she knew about him today to think of him as unable to defend himself.

"I was fifteen," he replied, "and these two older boys were taunting this little girl. I told them to leave her alone, and they turned on me. The girl ran when they weren't looking, and then they beat me up."

"Did anyone help you?" she asked, hoping deep down that someone had. She couldn't fathom why anyone would truly want to hurt him for the sake of pleasure, but she knew from her time in Russia and her life as a spy that many people did horrible things for their own sick pleasure.

"My best friend found me," he nodded. "Came out of nowhere. He was always like that though; he just showed up and saved me when I got beat up. Sometimes he wasn't there, but when he was he always fought them off for me. And he never made fun of me for it either."

"He sounds like a really good friend," she smiled and bumped shoulders with him. It was a bad move, since he hardly moved, and she ended up hurting herself a bit in the process.

"He was," Steve chuckled a bit and nodded. "He died in the war."

She didn't say anything, just reached down and clasped his hand in hers, twining their fingers together. Steve glanced at their hands and then at her, flashing her a small grin and looking forwards once more.

"I heard you officially quit SHIELD," he changed the subject.

"I did, a few weeks ago," she nodded.

"I'm glad. You were really torn up the last time I saw you," he told her and gave a small squeeze to her hand to show he didn't mean to patronize her. She found that she wasn't quick to anger at the comment like she had when Clint had come to her apartment a week ago. Instead she felt better, like he accepted her in whatever form she came in.

"I was," she answered honestly. "But you helped a lot though, I really needed you there that night."

"I'll always be there when you need me, Nat," he told her. "I'm glad you called me. It felt good to be there for you."

"You really mean that, don't you?" she asked and looked up at him. His head turned and his blue eyes met hers making her suddenly feel a bit more vulnerable.

"I do," he truthfully said. "You have trouble believing that sometimes, don't you?"

She looked away ashamed. It was true, she did have trouble accepting the unconditional love that Steve always gave her.

"Why?" he asked after a moment.

"I… I lost my parents when I was very little. I was taken in by the wrong people and conditioned to not trust anyone. And then I came to SHIELD with Clint, and they still told me not to trust anyone. Clint was the only person I was close to for years, and I can trust him to have my back, but he's not very good with his emotions. He's not a good example. No one in SHIELD was, really. It wasn't until I really got to know you that I realized what it meant to feel the way I do. To feel… _alive_.

"When Clint found out I'd left SHIELD he was angry," she continued. Steve gave another reassuring squeeze to her hand. "He didn't understand why I didn't tell him beforehand, why I hadn't told him afterwards. He heard from SHIELD that I'd left, when one year ago he would have known a month ahead of it. But a year ago he'd have also been able to talk me back out of leaving, and I didn't want to feel like I was being… rejected by him. And then he rejected me anyways. He and I jumped to anger, and when I tried explaining why I left he didn't understand."

"He'll still be there for you," Steve told her and a small smile lifted at the corners of her mouth. She looked up at him and nodded.

"I know, but it'll take time. We probably won't ever be as close as we were before. I don't know if it's just because I left SHIELD either; I think a lot of it is that I've changed."

"That's not a bad thing that you've changed. Sometimes people just grow and most of the time it's for the better."

"I know," she told him, and it was true. She did know that she'd changed and it was for the better. She felt more alive and in touch with her emotions than she ever had before and it was exhilarating. "Thank you for still being here."

"I'll be here in whatever way you want, Nat, you know that," he said, and she picked up on the slightly forced tone of his voice. What he said was still genuine, but she thought it sounded longing almost. He wanted more, and she knew it. But she also knew that she was in more of a position to give it to him than she ever had been in the past.

She stopped walking and turned towards him. "What do you want, Steve? Really? You're too self-sacrificing and while that is admirable, I want to know what _you_ want."

Steve looked off towards the trees across the green opposite their path and let out a long breath. He looked back down at her and answered, "I want you, Natasha. I want to be there for you every single day of every year. I want to wake up next to you and have you not regret what happened the night before, whatever it was that happened. I just want you to be happy, but I also want you to be happy with me."

She smiled and replied, "Okay," before stepping up on her toes and leaning in to capture his lips. He was still a moment before returning the kiss with fervor she hadn't felt since the night that had really spawned every change in her. His strong arm wrapped around her lower back, lifting her closer to him and her own arms reached up to link around his neck and hold his head to hers. It was one of the best kisses Natasha had ever had, and for once she finally let herself go into it. She relaxed and let it happen, not caring about her surroundings, or how exposed she was, or what he was thinking in that moment. The level of trust she gave him was like nothing she'd ever really given anyone before and while it struck her suddenly she never wanted to take it back. She trusted Steve with more than her life, like she had always trusted Clint. She trusted Steve with her heart and she let him in.

When they pulled back, neither pulled their arms back, they just held close, still reveling in the high that remained.

"Wow," Steve whispered between them.

"Yeah," Natasha nodded. "Wow."

"You want to go Steady then?" he asked with a crooked smile and after a beat Natasha burst into laughter and leaned her forehead against his shoulder and hugged his shoulders tighter to her. "That a yes?" he asked and she nodded into him.

"It's a yes," she said and pulled back to look at him. "I think I love you."

Steve's grin grew more and he nodded, leaning in to capture her lips again. "I think I love you too, Nat," he said when he pulled back again.

"Good," she grinned and gave him one more chaste kiss before slipping down to stand fully on her own. "Now, go show me a proper time, Captain."

"That I will, Ma'am," he nodded and took her hand again and continued their relaxing walk through the park.

* * *

**That's it. That's the end. Unless I come up with a REALLY good plot, I won't be adding a sequel. You're welcome to suggest ideas, but there's just no guarantee. It took me just under a YEAR to write this. Yeah. And I type fast too, I just suck at keeping up on things. There's a reason I only upload a video to YouTube every month or so (which if you're interested you can find the link to that and my Tumblr on my Bio. Beware the Whovian Explosion though. Season 7B is out and it's also the 50th anniversary this year.). So until next time, I'm Lynn, and thank you immensely for taking the time to read this. Though, if you're anything like me, you're just glad to have found a fic that's completed and was decent. Which I hope this was actually decent and I'm not just... you know what? I'm rambling.**

**Good Day, Sir/Madame.**


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